Chapter 12
Levi
The greenhouse behind the shop is my sanctuary.
My world hums here. Sunlight filters through foggy glass, casting everything in a soft, magical glow. Everything here runs on chlorophyll and hope…my heart can’t help but sync to it.
I sink onto the rickety stool by the potting bench, surrounded by ferns that arch over me. My hands move on autopilot. Pressing soil around the base of a struggling orchid, misting tender new fig leaves. But my mind isn’t here.
It’s back in Hayden’s apartment.
Specifically, on Hayden.
Hades.
Because that’s a normal thing to process. Totally regular information. My crush, the man who runs the local funeral home, wears far too many shades of black, and has perfected the art of the scathing eyebrow raise, is literally the former god of the underworld.
I mean…what?
At some point, I find myself staring blankly at a tray of seedlings, my brain playing a director’s cut of every interaction Hayden and I have had, now with the added filter of he’s actually an ancient deity.
I pause mid-mist, my brow furrowing.
Holy shit. Am I Bella Swan? If anyone starts talking about “the cold ones,” I’m packing my pothos and leaving town.
A sharp shrill jerks me from my spiral, my phone ringing insistently from the shop’s front counter. Grateful for the distraction, I quickly slip into the shop.
Naomi is pacing along the potting shelves near the front window, her dark waves pulled back neatly by her oversized headphones as she taps away sporadically on her tablet, head nodding along to whatever beat she’s listening to.
She glances up when I end the call, pulling her headphones back and hanging them around her neck.
“Hey, quick question,” I begin carefully, grabbing a stack of order forms just to keep my hands busy. “You dropped off the grant paperwork at city hall last week, right? That was them saying they never received it.”
Naomi’s eyes widen. “Absolutely. Last Thursday. Handed it right to the clerk…Carol? Connie? She even stamped it with a big red seal.”
My stomach tightens, dread pooling heavily in my chest. We need that grant, desperately. It’s not just a formality, it’s crucial to breaking ground by spring. Naomi clearly picks up on my panic, because she’s already scrambling for her bag.
“Levi, I promise I submitted it,” she says quickly, eyes wide with concern. “But I’ll print another copy right now and sprint it back down there myself. City hall is probably some weird Bermuda Triangle for paperwork.”
“We’ll be fine,” I say, forcing out a weak laugh, hoping I believe my own lie.
Paper must get lost at city hall the way socks vanish in dryers, right?
Annoying, not apocalyptic. “I just…This garden isn’t just some side project for me, you know?
It means a lot for Stonevale. The grant, our new website, social media…
it’s all stuff that keeps me up at night. ”
Naomi softens, tapping a few commands on her tablet that spring the printer to life.
“I get it. I know I’m still new, but I’ve got you.
The website is basically ready to launch, posts are drafted through the month, and, Levi…
people are signing up to volunteer like crazy on campus.
I promise you one missing document won’t wreck everything. ”
I want to believe her. I mostly do. But I can’t help thinking of Hayden, stoic and composed, somehow always walking in and out of city hall unbothered, folders in hand like the place actually listens to him.
Maybe I should take a page from his playbook and figure out a way to charm the officials who hold all the power. “You’re a lifesaver.”
Naomi beams. “Happy to help. Seriously, it’s way better than sitting through lectures. Shit, don’t tell Elijah I said that.”
Her grin is infectious, and the knot in my stomach loosens just a little. The crisis feels less like an avalanche now, more like a pebble we can kick aside together.
I lean against the counter. “Speaking of. How’s life outside the flower shop? Classes and everything else going okay? Be honest…is Elijah as insufferable in the classroom as I’ve always imagined?”
She laughs. “Oh my god, no. Elijah’s actually great—when he’s not terrorizing freshmen. But classes are good. Just busy. Between school and this internship…and you know, occasionally remembering I need to eat and sleep, it’s been a little hectic.”
“Sounds about right,” I tease gently, resting my elbows on the counter. “But come on. Any exciting campus drama or gossip?”
Naomi snorts, her cheeks coloring. “Bleh. You sound like my mother. She keeps asking why I’m not out there ‘finding someone nice’ like I have a spare five minutes.”
I nod sympathetically. “Parents have zero chill about that kind of thing.”
She eyes me mischievously. “That’s actually a wonderful pivot…”
“Oh boy,” I groan.
“Tell me what’s going on with you and whoever has you smiling every time you look at your phone,” she says, hopping up onto the counter beside me.
My pulse immediately quickens, and a foolish grin spreads across my face before I can stop it. “It’s…complicated.”
She gasps. “Oh, complicated sounds juicy! Like talk-about-it-right-now-with-your-favorite-intern complicated or pretend-I-don’t-notice-you-blushing complicated?”
I bark out a laugh. “Definitely the second one.”
“Lame, but fair enough,” she says, slipping off the counter to grab the papers from the printer before slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Okay, paperwork rescue mission commencing. You stay here, and I expect updates on Mr. Complicated when I get back, okay?”
I nod, warmth blooming in my chest. “Deal.”
She waves cheerfully, heading toward the door with a determination that makes me grateful all over again she applied for this internship.
The shop falls quiet once she’s gone, the kind of lull that usually means I should use the moment to catch up on invoices or schedule next week’s deliveries.
Instead, I just stand there, staring at my to-do list like it might grow hands and strangle me first. But the momentary peace is interrupted by my phone vibrating again on the counter.
Hayden’s name lights the screen and my heart flips in my chest with embarrassing enthusiasm.
Hayden: Are you free later?
Any anxiety about grants and deadlines vanishes and is replaced by a surge of excitement. Naomi’s earlier teasing clangs around my mind. Mr. Complicated. Though I must admit that this complication is one I’m more than willing to embrace.
I stare at the message, my thumb hovering over the screen, debating how much enthusiasm I can show now without completely sacrificing my dignity.
Am I free later?
Absolutely. Yes.
I’d rearrange everything, wreck my plans, close the shop permanently, and join a circus if it meant another minute with Hayden. But instead of saying all that, because fuck, Levi, some restraint is required, I type back quickly:
Me: I can probably find some time. What did you have in mind?
Hayden’s typing immediately, and my pulse thrums loudly in my ears.
Hayden: There’s someplace I want to show you.
I bite my lip to contain the ridiculous grin that’s getting far too comfortable on my face these days.
Me: Sounds great. Just say when and where.
His response is immediate.
Hayden: Pick you up outside your shop at 4:30?
Me: You’re on.
I glance toward the greenhouse, imagining Hayden waiting just outside.
Him. Hades. Gods. Shadows. It’s insane. Absolutely unhinged.
This is the kind of thing that should send me running for the hills…
or to an expensive therapist. Instead, I’m fully prepared to dive headfirst into one of those small-town supernatural romances we all grew up watching.
Minus the sparkly vampires, thank god.
And the truth is, I don’t think I care. Confusing, overwhelming, impossible…it doesn’t matter. I just know I want to be there for him.
With him.
And that, I think, as my entire workday is reduced to a countdown, feels very, very good.
· · ·
It’s late afternoon when Hayden pulls up, his car as sleek and understated as the man himself. Black, polished, the kind of machine that could be a luxury import…or something he’s kept immaculate since the eighties.
Knowing Hayden, either is possible.
I step outside, my heart doing that annoying staccato beat it perfected the moment I met him. He’s behind the wheel in squared aviators, hand resting lazily on the steering wheel like he wandered in from an indie film.
“Hey,” I say, sliding into the passenger seat, pretending my heart isn’t attempting to claw its way out of my chest.
He glances over, his mouth twitching dangerously close to a smile. “Oh, hi,” he says, shifting into drive like he hasn’t made me swoon via text for the past six hours.
We ride in comfortable silence for a while, the town blurring past the windows. The late-winter sun filters through the windshield, warm and golden, and I catch myself sneaking glances at him out of the corner of my eye.
His profile is just…unfair. All sharp lines and shadows.
The cut of his jaw, the curve of his nose, the slight furrow of his brow like he’s constantly mid-thought.
His dark hair, usually slicked back with effortless precision, has just enough texture to give it movement.
A few rebellious strands fall forward, softening him in a way that absolutely should not make my heartbeat pick up, and yet here we are.
He shifts, just a simple adjustment in his seat, and my stomach flutters like I’m seventeen again and in the passenger seat of my first crush’s car. I should be over this.
I’m not.
He’s fucking gorgeous. The kind of gorgeous that should come with a warning label. Or traffic cones. Or a seatbelt that tightens automatically when he turns his head like that. I tell myself to stop sneaking glances. I fail spectacularly. Every single time.